


Margo Chantal

by alynwa



Series: The Great Episode Challenge [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone from Illya's past asks for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The Deadly Quest Affair" raised the question: Who is Margo? This is my answer.

Margo Chantal. That was her name, or at least, that was the name she had given him when they had worked together in London. Even though MI6 and UNCLE had joined forces for that particular affair and had a very good professional relationship, for security reasons, each entity had been loathe to share the true names of its agents so it wasn’t Russian born Illya Kuryakin who was partnered with Margo, but rather, British national Niles Brighton.

They had been successful and Margo had suggested they celebrate victory by sharing a meal and a couple of pints. It was late August 1964 and when they came out of the pub, the record shop down the street was blasting Manfred Mann’s number one song “Do Wah Diddy Diddy” into the street while young people swayed in time to the beat. They watched for a while and then decided to walk alongside the river. Their personalities continued to click and they ended up holding hands as they walked and talked the evening away. It was a natural progression that the two spies went to her apartment to take their collaboration to a new level of intimacy. They saw each other as often as they could, but before they became too intertwined he was reassigned to UNCLE New York and barely had a chance to telephone her to say goodbye.

And now, here she was almost four years later; holding onto a pole on the uptown A train in Manhattan! The hair color was different, but he knew it was her. Tucking his newspaper under his arm, Illya began to move slowly through the throng toward her. When he had halfway closed the distance them, she looked directly at him for a few seconds and without changing her expression, looked to his left. A moment later, he did the same and noticed a tall, dark – haired man staring at her.

The Russian continued moving in her direction, shifting slightly so that he would appear to be passing in front of her when he was actually placing himself in the man’s line of sight. As he approached the pole, the train lurched slightly, giving him an excuse to grab onto it. “Help me, Nigel!” she whispered urgently when she was out of the man’s sight.

“Move toward the door behind you when we leave the station,” he responded without stopping. He leaned against the conductor’s cubicle, unfolded his newspaper and pretended to read.

With a roar, the A train pulled into the Fifty – ninth Street station. The doors opened on the side opposite where Illya stood, forcing Margo’s tail to sidestep the crowds moving on and off the train which placed him about three feet farther than he had been. Margo glanced back and Illya winked at her.

The doors closed and the train slowly began to pull out of the station. As it entered the tunnel, Margo turned and headed for the car door. Immediately, the man following her started to push his way through the commuters. She slid the door open just as the man began to push a mother and young child out of the way. “That’s not very nice,” Illya growled right before he punched the man in the face and turned to follow Margo.

“The door to the other car is locked!” she yelled over the loudness of the train, “We’re trapped between the cars!”

“No matter, we are not going in there! We are jumping! NOW!”

“ _What?_ ” she screamed as she tried to push back against Illya’s hands on her back. He shoved her hard and leapt out, grabbing her to him and twisting as they fell to the track bed so that Margo landed on top of him.

Pain shot through him as he hit the ground, but he ignored it as he made sure they were clear of the train barreling past them and not near another Third Rail that would have electrocuted them instantaneously. He barely caught a glimpse of Margo’s pursuer furiously glaring out a window before the train was gone.

Margo had gotten over her initial shock and had jumped up and begun briskly wiping the dirt and dust from her pantsuit. “You’re certifiable, do you know that? That was insane!” When she got no response, she turned around to see the blond still on the ground. “Nigel! Are you hurt badly?”

Illya was rubbing the back of his head. “I am fine, I just had the wind knocked out of me.” He tried to get up, but the pain shocked him into lying back down. “I need a minute.”

Margo quickly regained her composure and bent down to check him for injuries. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” she opined as she ran her hands quickly down his arms, legs and ribs, “but I’m guessing you’ve got yourself a nasty concussion there and some bruised ribs. Here, let me help you up.”

Illya leaned heavily against her and managed to get to his feet. “There are some stairs at the end of the station platform. We can exit the subway there.”

As they made their way back to Fifty – ninth Street, a downtown A passed them on the opposite tracks. “What are the odds my ‘friend’ is on that train?” Margo asked.

“Extremely small. Unless he can jump off one train moving at top speed and then jump onto another, he will not be back here for at least thirty minutes. The A train has the longest nonstop stretch of any of the city trains, it will not stop again until One Hundred Twenty – fifth Street in Harlem.”

They were up on the platform again when the Russian began to feel dizzy. He managed to get upstairs to the token booth level before his legs began to feel like rubber.  Sitting down on the stairs that led to the street, he motioned for Margo to stand so that curious passersby wouldn’t see him pull out his communicator. “Open Channel S, Priority One. Scramble.”

“Solo here. Illya? What’s wrong? I can barely hear you.”

“I am at the northern end of the A train Fifty – ninth Street station with an acquaintance who knows me as Nigel Brighton,” he continued in the same _sotto voce_ , “I may have a concussion; I cannot walk up the stairs.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes!”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Napoleon came down the stairs two at a time. “I’m here, Nigel.” He nodded to the woman standing with his partner and then moved closer, put Illya’s arm around his shoulder and lifted him, half dragging him up the stairs to a waiting car at the curb. He put the Russian in the backseat, ushered the woman in next and then ran around to get into the car. The Section III agent behind the wheel began to drive to St. Vincent’s Hospital. Napoleon turned around and said with a smile, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. My name is Napoleon Solo.”

Illya was holding his head, but raised it to say, “This is Margo Chantal, MI6. She was having a problem and I helped her.” He groaned and slumped lower.

“Hang in there, Partner, we’re almost there.”

They arrived at the hospital moments later and Napoleon lifted Illya out of the vehicle while Margo ran in to get help. Quickly, the blond agent was ushered into an exam room from which Napoleon and Margo were politely, but firmly, told to leave and wait outside.

There was a vending machine in the waiting room, so Napoleon treated Margo and himself to coffee. As he handed one to her, he asked, “So, ah, how is it you know Nigel?”

“UNCLE and MI6 had a common goal and joined forces; your partner and I were assigned to work together.”

“Ah, I see. May I ask what you’re doing in New York?”

“My cover is a model…”

Napoleon smiled as he quickly checked her out. “Ah, yes, I can see that,” he said. “I’m sorry; you were saying?”

“I’m in town to walk in some of the fashion shows. I had just finished a show and was heading back to my hotel when I realized I was being followed. I’m certain the man is an East German spy I bested in Bruges once. Anyway, he saw me and began to follow me so I took the train hoping I would lose him. Imagine my surprise to see Nigel.” She checked her watch. “I have a swimsuit show tonight and I really have to start getting ready. I have to go. I’m sure he’s going to be alright. Tell him I said ‘thank you’ and he can reach me at the Pennsylvania Hotel tomorrow. It was very nice meeting you, Napoleon.”

He had a hard time focusing on what she said after the words “swimsuit show,” but he knew she was leaving. “Ah, perhaps I’ll see you later.”

She smiled as she put on her coat. “Perhaps. Goodbye.”

He watched her head toward the exit and thought about going with her to hail a cab, but just then, the doctor who had examined Illya came to speak with him.

“Mr. Kuryakin definitely has a concussion and we need to keep him here at least for tonight, perhaps longer. If you wish to see him, someone will come escort you to his room as soon as we get him settled.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” As he sat back down to wait he thought, _We’ll move him to UNCLE Medical tomorrow if the doctor says he still needs medical attention. Oh, my Russian wolf is not going to like_ that.

A little while later, Napoleon was telling his partner to relax and behave himself and not to worry about Margo as he planned to take her to dinner later. _Illya almost came off the bed to fight me!,_ he thought as he took his leave. _I’m going to have to ask him about this later._

He didn’t get the chance to do that, _or_ have dinner with Margo that night as the Russian was kidnapped right out of the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Days Later_

Napoleon, Illya and Margo were having dinner at Luchow’s. Except for a few scrapes and bruises, the two men were none the worse for wear considering they were almost killed by someone they had thought dead years ago. Illya took another bite of his Weiner schnitzel and said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you: How did you find out what had happened?”

“I had awakened early the next morning so that I could reach my superior as soon as he got into his office. I knew it would be bad form to attempt to contact Mr. Waverly myself to inquire about you, Nigel, so I asked him to do it. Imagine my shock when he called me back and said that you had been kidnapped by that horrible THRUSH Victor Karmak! I was quite upset about the whole thing and kept going over and over in my mind how that could have happened and I decided that someone _had_ to have told Karmak you were in hospital. I was determined to find out who so I cancelled my flight home and went right over to St. Vincent’s.  I got there just before the night shift was scheduled to leave and I spoke with the nurses and the doctors who had tended to you. You know how you get a feeling sometimes about someone?”

Napoleon refilled her glass of Riesling before topping off his own glass. “I most certainly do,” he said as he held the bottle up in a silent question to his partner. He put it down when Illya shook his head.

“The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I spoke with the nurse who had given Nigel his meds, or should I say, gave _Illya Kuryakin_ his meds.” She held up her hand. “It’s not a problem; when I showed your picture around, that was the name they knew you by. And when I spoke with my superior to apprise him of what I had found out, he confirmed that is indeed your name.” She looked at Napoleon. “Because of our mission, it was thought best that we not know the real names of the agents with whom we were partnered. But to me,” she smiled as she looked back at the blond, “you will always be Nigel.”

“And you will always be Margo. You were saying about that nurse?”

“I had my suspicions. So, I decided to…interrogate her separately from the others. She was… _reluctant_ at first, but she told me what I wanted to know. Eventually. It seems she was a low level THRUSH mole assigned to the hospital to inform this Karmak whenever someone of interest; a politician, anyone famous or in your case, an UNCLE agent was brought in for treatment. She’s in UNCLE’s custody now.”

“Thank you, Margo. I did think it odd when she placed the wrong end of the thermometer into my mouth. When are you returning to London?”

“Day after tomorrow. I decided to keep my cover up and got myself booked for another swimsuit show tomorrow night.”

“Oh, really?” Napoleon mused as he slid his chair closer to her. “Might I have the pleasure of taking you to dinner before your show?”

Margo laughed and finished her wine. “Napoleon, any model worth her salt knows you don’t eat _before_ a show!” She reached over and took Illya’s hand. “I was actually hoping that _you_ might be my guest at the show and we could share a meal afterwards.”

Illya graced her with his true smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

_Two Days Later…_

Napoleon entered the office he shared with his partner to find the Russian with his nose deep inside the latest status report of the development of a new, smaller explosive device. “Good morning, Illya,” he said cheerily as he sat down and pulled out a report of his own to read. “Did you have a good time last night?”

The blond pulled off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “I did. After the show, Margo introduced me to the designer of the collection. He was most informative and encouraging. We spoke for a while and he told me I had a flair for fashion that I should explore further one day.”

The CEA laughed out loud. “’A flair for _fashion_?’ Tovarisch, everytime I think I know all I need to about you, you surprise me. Whatever; I was really wanting to know about your time with…Margo? Did you have a good time? Do you know her real name now?”

“Yes, I did and yes, I do.”

“Care to share?”

“No.”

“Illya!”

“Napoleon, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.” He sipped his cold cup of coffee and resumed perusing the report though he could feel his partner’s eyes upon him. After a moment he sighed, “All right, I will tell you this much in the interest of friendship and sharing: Margo thinks I am better looking than you.”


End file.
